


home is a heartbeat

by bummerang



Category: RWBY
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Pre-Canon, Drinking, Eventual Happy Ending, Ice Skating, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining, Self-Worth Issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-28
Updated: 2017-12-01
Packaged: 2019-01-25 11:30:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12530332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bummerang/pseuds/bummerang
Summary: What Qrow wants has never mattered before, and he thinks this is no different. It takes him a while - through moonlight and light snow, shells beneath the surf and lights in the night - to figure out that this, at least, always has.(Five times Qrow is ridiculous and one time he doesn't mind.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> 5+1 is my jam.
> 
> For some context, I actually became intrigued about Qrow and Ozpin's relationship because of the beginning of Volume 3, where Ruby remarks, "It's funny. The more I get to know him (Ozpin), the more he starts sounding like Uncle Qrow." Then we find out what Uncle Qrow sounds like and _ohooo shit_. And later, where Qrow's all 'we go way back', I knew I was in. I'm all for them being close and dorky with wildly differing personalities. Keeping each other grounded, annoying the hell out of one another. It's a great dynamic. :'D
> 
> So, I hope to have fun with this series and I hope anyone giving this a look will enjoy it, too!

1.

Taiyang was the light of his life, the glimmer in the horizon of his jaded, miserable existence—but he was kind of grating on Qrow's nerves right now. He just didn't get it, but since Qrow was neither equipped nor inclined to explain himself because that could take all fucking night and he would need something stronger than root beer, he couldn't really be all that mad at Tai.

Didn't stop him from being a little annoyed, though.

“You should just ask him.”

Qrow ignored this, just like he had ignored every other instance of this comment for the last fifteen minutes. Four years as his partner and roommate had prepared Qrow as the undisputed champion of ignoring Tai, no question. “You want the last cupcake?”

“Qrow.”

“No? All mine, then.”

Taiyang sighed. At last, he took off his cap and tossed it onto one of the many empty chairs that surrounded his bed. Their last mission—last one as _students_ , how was that for a trip—had gotten Tai pretty beat. Low aura, couple of broken ribs, sprained ligament. He couldn't attend the graduation ceremony today because he had not woken up until they were right in the middle of it. Qrow had been sweltering in his cap and robes, regretting his decision to endure the pomp, when he'd gotten a text while they were calling out the Ns.

_Y u guys didn't wake me_

**Tried, nurse went dont u fkin dare u lil shits he needs sleep  
So we didnt fukin dare**

**Nurse is ripped,** Summer had added, because this was the group chat.

 **Could bench press me.** That had been James.

_I am betrayed_

But Tai hadn't been as bummed out as he let on, especially not when six sweaty idiots barged into his room an hour later, robes and book bags lumpy with contraband nicked from the after party in the dining hall. Since kidnapping Tai from the infirmary was an all-around bad idea with the nurse still on duty, they'd brought the party to him. Qrow still didn't know what kind of smooth talking Glynda and Ozpin had done to keep the nurse off their backs for five hours.

All of them had intended to stay at least until Tai fell asleep, but the nurse had come in around dusk to squint ominously and kick them out. Qrow had volunteered to stay behind and clean up on his own, partly because he didn't have any last minute things to do anyway and also because Tai had been surreptitiously making faces at him, which he'd rightfully interpreted as _'stay, I must have words with you'_. So James and Summer had gone to the workshop to touch up their weapons; Raven and Glynda were off in the city, menacing nightclubs or some other terrifying shit; Oz went back to the dorm to finish packing. 

And now Tai was in his element, meddling like he always did because Qrow wasn't moving fast enough for him.

Not that Qrow ever intended to move at all, but no need to add fuel to the fire.

“He won't say no.”

Qrow filled the ensuing silence with the clink of empty root beer bottles as he aimlessly arranged them in the trash bag.

“Are you afraid he'll say yes?”

He grunted agreement.

“That—that's kinda ass-backwards,” Tai said, frowning.

“I'm afraid he'll say yes just because I asked,” Qrow said, relenting a little. It was sort of true, the part that wasn't wrapped up in his convoluted web of what he thought he could ask for and what he thought Oz was willing to give. He picked his way across the bed in cupcake wrappers and empty chip packets, balling them up into a huge wad in his other hand. “You know what he's like. There's probably no reason he'll say no, so he ain't gonna say no. I don't want him to go with me like it's an obligation. Like he thinks he has to watch out for me.” Even though Qrow sort of wanted an excuse to keep an eye on _him_. “Besides, he's got other plans.”

Tai stared. “Picking a random train to hop on isn't a plan. It's like. A quarter-life crisis.”

“How's that any different from what I'm doing?” Sure, he was forgoing the train to walk the slow, scenic route, but wandering was wandering. Aimlessness did not differentiate by method of transport.

“It isn't. But on your own, that's just drifting. Two of you doing it is a plan.”

Qrow paused in the middle of tying the bag. “The fuck? That doesn't even make sense.”

“Just think about it, okay?” Tai's expression softened. “I don't think he'll look at it as an obligation.”

There was something really annoyingly knowing about that gaze, which pissed him off a little because Qrow didn't know anything at all.

\---

The sun had completely set by the time Qrow returned to the dorm building, the evening air cooler by comparison to the rest of the day but still on the wrong side of warm. It was a relief when he opened the door and met with a glorious wall of artificially chilled air. He stood there for a while, cooling off, until the door sensor started beeping at him to get the hell off its territory and he grudgingly had to oblige for the sake of the remaining occupants in the dorms.

Tomorrow was the official last day to check out, but some had already left after the ceremony. There were still plenty of stragglers here and there, last minute errands and celebrations, probably alternately basking and freaking out, because _this was it_. They did their time, got their papers, and now they were going to go fuck up shit elsewhere and had the license to do it.

It was no wonder so many of the faculty kept flasks in their desks.

He passed a couple of localized parties on his way up, hanging out of rooms and taking up parts of the stairway, a bunch of happy, drunk fire hazards. He'd forgone the elevator after it opened up to a couple—N and E of Team NITE, if he wasn't mistaken—enthusiastically sucking face. They had stopped long enough to politely offer him space to stand, but he'd waved them off.

Thankfully there was less happening on his floor, just some muffled voices and music filtering through a few of the closed doors as he strolled past. It was quiet as he approached his room near the end of the hall, second to last, but as he was about to key in with his scroll, he gave up all illusion of self control and glanced at the last room.

It didn't have any personal signs on the door like most of the other rooms. No stickers, boards, posters—nothing to really indicate the kind of people who lived in it. If anything, the bareness suggested some real dull-ass people, which was beyond wrong _holy shit_. But it still had the usual marks of character that came with being a door in a building filled with super powered adolescents trying to be careful. A couple of cracks and chipped paint that came from weapons being less than carefully handled. There was a dent in the frame from the time Tai had headbutted it in a drunken stupor. It was one of the few things Glynda never deigned to fix even though she could do it without even thinking about it, because it was funny to watch Tai squirm.

There was an enormous patch of discolored not-quite-white paint around the key panel where Summer had done her best to cover up the dick that Qrow had drawn there a few days before their second year began. Before that room had been given to James, Glynda, and Oz, it'd belonged to a couple of Grade A assholes that got their jollies out of pissing off Tai and Qrow. Qrow hadn't known that they'd left, or that the room had been reassigned until after Summer had come around the corner, taken a long look at what he'd done and sort of shouted at a really surprised Ozpin, who'd been trailing behind her with a duffel bag and plastic box. _You can't go in yet, nothing is ready, come back in two hours, you can leave your stuff in my room._

And Oz had just shrugged and gone with it, not even questioning how a room with a few beds could somehow be 'not ready' (which in hindsight was really the first thing that should have clued in Qrow to the capacity Ozpin had for taking weird shit in stride). Summer had given Qrow all kinds of hell for it, especially after she'd seen his masterpiece on the inside and had to rework that estimate to four hours and two buckets of paint.

He stared at the battered door, knowing he was fighting a losing battle, but he still fought it for a couple of minutes more. It was the principle of the thing.

Then he sidled over, knocking first then calling out, “Hey. It's me.” Which, maybe wasn't all that informative—

“It's not locked,” said a low, hoarse voice from inside.

 _Oh, fuck._ Qrow peeked in and winced as he caught sight of the two precariously balanced beds in the farthest corner and the thin figure lying face down on the top one, arm waving lazily. “Sorry. I'll—“

But Ozpin had already turned his head, squinting in the low light from the desk lamp. “No, come in.” He sat up slowly, scrubbing his face with one hand and motioning Qrow in with the other. “I didn't mean to fall asleep.”

He said that a lot. More, lately. With the end of their days at school came the beginning of Ozpin's life of Duty and Responsibility, because magic was apparently a thing and so were secret wars and organizations. Qrow wondered if his decision to drift around for a while was at least a little bit about that. Oz never complained. He just didn't. But maybe that stubbornness had accumulated and this was the result.

Qrow was going to walk across the continent because he didn't know what else to do. Maybe it was kind of the same for Oz.

But today was supposed to be a good day, or something better than usual anyway, so Qrow went for a safer topic.

“Packing's that boring, huh?” Not that there was much left, or had been in the first place. Most of his things—fit into three medium sized boxes that had stacked pretty neatly in the sidecar of Tai's motorbike—had already been moved to the tiny apartment he'd rented in the city. There was an open duffel bag on the chair, a small pile of clothes on the desk, and an assortment of tools neatly laid out next to that. Leaning on the wall by the chair was Ozpin's scythe, blade fully out. 

“Something like that,” Oz said. He swung his legs over and dropped beside Qrow, noiseless and languid like an overlarge cat, running a hand through his messy hair like he thought the motion would make it stick up less. He readjusted his scarf as he walked to the desk. “Are you done with yours?”

“Pretty much.” It wouldn't take long to cram everything together. Like Oz, Qrow hadn't accumulated much in the way of possessions even after four years spent with teammates with some crazy hoarding tendencies. What little he had that didn't fit in his bag had been boxed up with Tai's things. Tai said he wouldn't mind looking after them until Qrow figured out where he wanted to 'nest'.

“You know, for someone who hadn't intended to sleep, lying in bed seems like a weird way of doing it,” Qrow said.

“I wanted to rest my eyes.”

“You know that shit doesn't work that way.”

Oz smiled, conceding. “Well. I had hope.” He grabbed his scythe, picked up a nearby rag and a tin of polish, and held them out to Qrow, blinking expectantly. “Please.”

Qrow snorted and took them, made a big show of flinging himself onto the bottom bed, avoiding the enormous glob of duct tape holding the legs together. He set about his work carefully, mindful to wipe out from the blade and not toward it. Ozpin's scythe was a simple, wicked-looking thing, black and sleek, blade sharp and gleaming. That it retracted into a cane of all things was still a little hard to believe, if only because that was so _boring_. But Oz insisted that boring meant inconspicuous. He could carry it around and nobody who didn't know him would think too hard about it.

“I thought you'd be out celebrating by now,” he said after a while. Qrow glanced up, watched him stack tool kits into the bag.

Celebrate? Really? Because even if Qrow were a celebrating-with-crowds kind of guy, they both knew that was a disaster that did not need to happen this day. And everybody else had already gone off to do their own shit. He had considered busting Tai out, Tai's nosiness and the scary nurse be damned, but he knew the idiot needed rest. Low aura wasn't something you fucked around with, ever. Besides, he would bet a good chunk of cash that Raven and Summer were going to sneak back in after the nurse left for the night.

But there was still one more person.

“Well, I'm technically outside my room,” Qrow said, grinning. “And I have a pretty good idea how we can get to the celebrating part.”

He was one hundred percent aware of how suggestive that sounded as soon as he said it. If Ozpin was aware of it too, his expression gave nothing away. He kept packing, a slight tilt to his head the only indication that he was thinking. It was both a relief and a disappointment, but that disappointment didn't matter all that much when it was just Qrow being stupid.

Qrow was practical. He took what he could get and, for all his recklessness on the field, tried not to take too many unnecessary risks out of it. His relationship with chance was intricate and fucking complicated, a consequence of having a semblance with as wide a selection as a roulette wheel, and the same shitty odds to boot. He'd gotten used to making do with whatever he had, because sometimes asking for any more got him into trouble or made trouble for others.

And, well, what right did he have to ask for more?

The last thing he wanted to do was ruin what he did have. Oz was a good friend. They hung around late into nights, looked after each other on the field, and they were united in their hatred of early mornings. Qrow made it a tiny everyday mission to get Ozpin to smile or laugh—real, open and startled—and every time he succeeded he locked that little bit of warmth deep beneath the mire of his impotent soul, because that had to be enough. Just wanting had to be enough.

And while Qrow was doing the usual song and dance of his constant minor crisis, Oz still hadn't answered. For a minute, he thought he was going to have to wheedle him into it— _it's our last day, Oz_ —but then Ozpin smiled. Without looking up, he said, “What do you have in mind?”

Absolutely nothing yet, but that didn't stop him for long.

\---

“Is this worth having braved the forest full of grimm?”

“Oz, nothing even happened. And nothing's more dangerous than us. Now get up here.”

Ozpin sighed and gave him a quick, dubious look. A moment later he was up the pillar and settling next to Qrow, their arms brushing together because there wasn't much space. The old-ass ruins in the Emerald Forest were a little ways out, definitely less convenient than any roof at Beacon, but it offered an unobstructed view of the whole forest that was pretty impressive in the soft light of the broken moon. The mountain was even better. At the peak, you could catch the bright edge of the Forest of Eternal Fall, but that high an altitude with a bottle of cheap wine was probably asking for trouble.

Qrow took a swig and handed it to Ozpin, who managed a smaller sip. “Not bad, though, right?”

“I prefer red.”

Qrow rolled his eyes. “The view. I meant the view.”

“Oh. Yes. It's definitely not bad.”

“Wow. Ringing endorsement there, huh?”

“I could try a little harder.” Ozpin chuckled when Qrow bumped his shoulder in response. “I'm sorry, Qrow. It is beautiful.” He tried in vain to brush his hair out of his face as the breeze whipped at it relentlessly.

“Damn right. Like I'd take you somewhere shitty. I figured, you know,” he shrugged, hoping it was casual, “since we're gonna be leaving tomorrow, we might as well go somewhere memorable.”

“It's all been memorable.”

Qrow was glad it was mostly dark because he could feel his face heating up, and it wasn't the wine.

“What made you think of this place?” Oz asked, passing the bottle.

Qrow deliberately took a long sip. He wasn't sure he wanted to tell him that he'd been sort of tailing him to the forest sometimes, and had so chosen the ruins as a good place to perch and watch the volatile light show from a safe, inconspicuous distance. Just to keep an eye out in case something went wrong with his training. Nothing ever had, at least nothing that could justify Qrow charging out there and probably embarrassing them both.

It wasn't like he wanted to spy, but ever since Oz had so very reluctantly told them about maidens and relics and this weird dead people aura that was sort of like an immortal symbiotic virus, Qrow couldn't just do nothing.

“Always thought it'd be interesting,” Qrow said, thinking quickly— _aha_. “Especially after we demolished the ones over there,” and he jerked his thumb to the side, at a suspicious bald spot in the middle of the trees.

Oz winced. “You did. I was nowhere near it.”

“Because you were running, traitor. Leaving me with that fucking Taijitu.”

“It ate our weapons. And I didn't leave you, you left _me_ to go punch it.”

Qrow grinned ruefully. Not his best idea since he wasn't Tai. He'd fractured his knuckles on that thick hide and Raven had laughed at him for ages. “Ah, right. It worked out, though, didn't it? Who knew it'd get sick from eating mushrooms—”

“I don't want to recall the experience,” Oz said flatly. "I discovered things that day that did not need to be discovered."

He snickered as he handed over the bottle, then laughed outright when Oz took a very long drink like he thought it would banish the memory.

Fuck, he was going to miss these nights. He couldn't even remember exactly when they'd started doing this, only that it had been sometime in the middle of their second year.

Before that, he had only been peripherally aware of Ozpin's existence as both Summer's friend and _that-prissy-quiet-one-in-History_. Until a couple people inevitably dropped out after the first year and some of the team rosters got fucked up. Glynda and Ozpin ended up on a three-person team with James, a newly-arrived transfer from Atlas. He used to be a real piece of work, and Qrow used to be more easily riled.

It was really all because of James and Qrow being jackasses to each other that Qrow and Ozpin had started occupying the same sphere of existence. The first time either of them had properly said a word to one another was after Ozpin had broken up one of their fights by tripping them up with the butt of his scythe. He'd told James to _'back down'_ and Qrow to _'leave off, Branwen'_ , all quiet and exasperated, like he really didn't need this shit like ever. Not the greatest starting point.

It had forced Qrow to reassess. He'd been half right about prissy, at least, but very wrong about the type of quiet. 

And they might have stayed like that, toeing some weird line between grudging civility and irritation, if a joint mission didn't go really fucking south. James and Qrow had been having some kind of stupid contest—gods, he couldn't even remember _what_ anymore—and in their stupidity, the both of them had somehow forgotten about the Death Stalker. Summer had tackled James out of the way, and Ozpin had pushed Qrow down, but—

There were wake up calls, and then there was whatever the fuck that mess was. And the fallout had been worse. Qrow had been ready to leave because he was a piece of shit and couldn't fucking deal, but Tai and Summer had wrangled him down before he could. _You're not leaving. You're going to say you're sorry. You and James are not going to do the moronic thing again. We'll keep Glynda from killing you both._

(Raven hadn't tried to stop him, but for three days she'd kept a bag packed and ready, hanging off the end of her bed.)

There was a jagged scar, silver and smooth with age, that ran from the side of Ozpin's neck and past his collarbone. It was usually covered by the green scarf he'd taken to wearing a little while after that mission, a scarf that Qrow had given him while he was still in the infirmary. _For the cold_ , he'd said brusquely, because he couldn't apologize like a normal fucking person, and how was any apology ever going to be enough for this? _Cold's a bitch for—for injuries. Look, I—I'm sorry. I'm sorry, all right? I fucked up bad. I didn't—mean for you, anyone, to get hurt. Look, if—if there's anything you want me to do or—_

But Ozpin had shaken his head and Qrow had felt his chest tighten up because of course, _of course_ —

_It's okay._

Gentle and understanding. And Qrow hadn't understood. Still couldn't, really. He could deal with hate, with owing favors. But forgiveness—he hadn't expected it or known what to do with it. And he hadn't known what to make of Ozpin.

Ozpin wore the scarf. He began letting Qrow borrow his notes. He'd included Qrow on his list of people who often missed breakfast and needed to be smuggled toast during first period. He wore the scarf well through that spring, even when it got warm. Their teams took more missions together, and it'd been a little slow going at first, but Qrow had eased into it eventually. He always seemed to find Oz behind him, their backs pressed together, making up for each other. And Oz kept wearing the scarf.

And then, one day, they had sparred a little longer than usual. They sat around, cooling off, and the silence was comfortable—and, when they got started, so was the conversation. Just dumb shit at first, like why didn't the school just invest in real bunk beds already or was it some weird test of character, and was Professor Peach actually immortal because she'd been around for _years, just look at the yearbooks_. Then, after a few more times, they'd migrated to the rooftops, replaced water with cheap booze and air with cigarette smoke, and still kept talking about dumb shit but worked everything else in between. And it was _nice_.

Qrow wasn't used to nice, before. He never had the chance. The tribe wasn't it, and Raven, though she'd made sure he was well in her own way, had never really done 'nice' until Beacon, and they'd both found something better than what they had left behind.

They'd come a long way from _'Branwen'_. And _'Ozpin'_ —always snapped, always derisive, to get some kind of reaction out of that frigid calm that used to piss him off—had somehow become _'Oz'_. Just Oz.

It had sort of crept up on him, this feeling he didn't want to name. It lightened him, dragged at him, this maddening thing that lingered and sometimes tugged too hard in his chest. Two and a half years, and Qrow realized he wanted more time.

The bottle had made a few rounds while they sat in silence, and was at a little less than half now. Qrow felt warm from the pit of his stomach, more liquid courage there than any real courage he could have gathered up from any part of himself. He was a little more refreshed, more focused. Then he made up his mind. Because he couldn't get Tai's meddlesome voice out of his head, because this was their last night and he really didn't want it to be, and Oz was still wearing that stupid, green scarf—

“Would you like to go with me to the station tomorrow?”

Qrow went still, because those words had not come from his own mouth. His brain was still too busy trying to fit words together at all.

Ozpin was looking at some distant point over the hills, his cheeks flushed from the wine and maybe a little embarrassment. “I ask because Glynda tells me we're a bit foolish for trying to wander alone when we could be less foolish and wander together.”

Sound advice. It didn't surprise him that Tai and Glynda were conspiring. Likely, all of them were conspiring. At this point, he was certain the only person in their little group who didn't know about Qrow's hopeless crush on Oz was Oz himself.

He never told any of them. His hopelessness was apparently just really fucking obvious. _You rebuilt your sword to have a scythe mode,_ Summer had said, once. _You are not subtle._

That wasn't fair. He did it because it was badass, not because he was hung up.

Okay, maybe a little bit because he was hung up.

“Only if it suits you,” Ozpin said, and that was when Qrow noticed that he was very still and his expression was blank, probably interpreting Qrow's silence as offense or something equally wrong.

There was a lot going on, and Qrow was still stuck on the part that sounded a lot like Oz wanted go on a trip with him. Words were failing him and Oz was practically a statue beside him, so Qrow reached into his pocket and did the first thing he could think of—

He shoved the leftover cupcake, slightly squashed and icing messily smeared, into Ozpin's hands.

Oh, god, what. _What._

Oz stared at it.

“Thought—maybe—hungry.” _What the hell._

“Oh.” He regarded it for another uncertain moment, then peeled back the wrapper and tore off half, handing it to Qrow.

He took it numbly, and as they nibbled at their halves in the bemused silence, the words finally came to him. Too many, actually, a whole flood of uselessness. “You sure you wouldn't mind? You know how restless I get. Might kick you if the space between seats is too small. We'll probably have to rock-paper-scissors for leg space, but I know you'll win because you'll use your semblance—”

But, miraculously, he'd somehow said the right thing because Oz was no longer tense. Actually, he was laughing. “I would not.” Then, with a rare smirk (and god, what Qrow wouldn't give to see _that_ more often), “I don't need it. You have a tell.”

“Rock-paper-scissors. What kind of tell is even possible,” he said flatly.

“Glynda says there are tells for everything, and I've learned that it's usually unwise to doubt her.”

He couldn't argue with that.

“And no, I wouldn't mind.” He looked down at the tiny piece of cupcake he had left. “I would like the company.”

Oh.

_I don't think he'll look at it as an obligation._

There was a part of him that was relieved because he didn't have to ask and it _still_ meant he could have more time. And Qrow was a practical, selfish person who always took what he could get.

It warred with another part of him—likely his stomach—that was a little indignant about all that liquid courage going to waste, though.

Well, maybe not. He still had to answer.

“Yeah, okay,” he found himself saying like it was the easiest thing, and if he ignored the fluttering in his chest then it mostly was. “I'd like the company, too. But,” he added, “we're still not going to have any leg space.”

Qrow watched him laugh quietly, the moonlight soft on his face, and tucked this moment away, deep inside.

\---

They really didn't have much leg space.

But they were alone in the back of the car, and they had a pretty nice view, so even though it was cramped and they had to sit kind of diagonally with their backs against the armrests, Qrow didn't mind.

And since Qrow was determined, they still got in some rock-paper-scissors because seriously, _what tell_?

-


	2. Chapter 2

**2.**

Qrow had no idea what he was doing. This was a usual thing for him.

Truth was, he had planned to stay at home and lounge until he no longer felt like death warmed over, or at least until the stitches in his side finally dissolved. But a few days into his semi-involuntary downtime and he was already losing his mind, so now he was on the other side of the city, freezing his feathers off on the railing of the fire escape outside Ozpin's sitting room. Through the window, he could see Oz shuffling listlessly around his kitchen, pulling a bar of chocolate from a cupboard and a carton of milk from the fridge.

Qrow waited until he was facing the window before pecking it lightly, tilting his head when Ozpin looked up. He couldn't help the little warble of amusement when Ozpin mimicked the tilt, squinting curiously, before he seemed to realize what he was looking at and started for the window. Qrow fluttered in as soon as he lifted the pane, then waited until he'd closed it again to set the single chain link on the coffee table. He'd spent a while looking for something especially shiny. Ozpin picked it up with a slight quirk of his lips.

“I was beginning to wonder when you'd grow bored enough to show up.”

Was he that obvious?

“You really are that obvious,” he answered the unspoken question, rolling his eyes. “This a record, though. Four days?”

Qrow inclined his head.

Ozpin nodded. He brought the chain link up, turning it in his fingers with interest. “This is very nice, but I hope you know you don't have to pay your way in.” His tone was a little strange, low. He shook his head and straightened up before Qrow could get any kind of handle on it. Ozpin took the link to his workbench, where there was a little basket of collected junk Qrow had given him over the years as 'payment' to loiter in his apartment.

It started a little as a joke, but primarily as a way to escape Tai in one of his mother hen moods. Coins and nuts and colorful pieces of string in exchange for a place to crash. But it stuck because Ozpin seemed to genuinely enjoy being brought little gifts, and Qrow—well, he liked giving them.

Oz was surprisingly sentimental about his things despite not having very much besides the ever growing piles of books. Maybe especially, even. There was that wristwatch Glynda had given him way back, darkened leather straps and antique-looking with its burnished gold rim around the face. He had a black cloak from Summer that had once served as a desperate Hallow's Eve costume but was now a staple of his travel gear. Even the novelty lamp shaped like a milk carton that Tai had gotten purely to confuse him ( _I saw this and thought of you,_ and Oz had been speechless with laughter) stood as the lighting for his workbench.

And there was the scarf on the coat rack, more brown now than green and more mud than wool. After spending half a day tied around Qrow's wounds, it was a wonder that there were any clean patches at all. It couldn't be saved.

“Are you hungry?” Ozpin said.

Qrow drew his gaze away from the scarf and up at Ozpin, who blinked at him patiently. His sweater was wide and loose at the neck, revealing the stark lines of his old scar. Qrow was glad he was still in bird form, because bird stares gave away much less than human ones. If he was human right now he wasn't sure he'd be able to play casual.

“No?” Ozpin said when Qrow didn't respond. “Then would you like a drink?”

Qrow flew over to the counter and gave a caw at the stove.

With an acknowledging nod, Ozpin took another chocolate bar and a second mug from the cupboard. As he unwrapped both and started breaking them into smaller pieces, he said, “Did you fly the whole way?”

_Caw._

“If that's a 'yes' I'm surprised you made it in that form. Perhaps when you leave later, you should do so in one that retains more heat.” What he really meant, Qrow knew, was 'don't make me look for your frozen bird corpse'.

Ah, well, he was done with this anyway. “It's not really that bad out there,” Qrow said, a low, quavering warp to his voice that tapered off to normal as he shrugged out of the rest of the transformation. He slid off the counter and wiped at his wet hair with a sleeve. “Just a little snow.”

Wordlessly, Ozpin disappeared down the tiny hall for a few seconds, returning with a towel he pressed into Qrow's hands. “Dry off,” he said, going back to the stove.

“I'm good.”

“For the sake of my floor.”

“'For the sake of my floor',” he mimicked obnoxiously, snickering as he sidestepped a wad of foil expertly aimed at his head. Oz hadn't even turned from the pot.

He leaned one elbow on the counter as he dried off and watched Ozpin work. Once upon a time, catching Oz looking anything less than immaculate (except his hair, that thing defied order out of spite) was so rare that when it did happen Tai and Qrow would joke about omens and the end times and shit. A different disaster for a missing tie or a forgotten suit jacket or, once, his entire book bag. 

Something had eased into him over the years. Some kind of unspoken trust that was as scary to Qrow as it was humbling. It was the only explanation he had for Oz's apparent lack of concern, walking around in an old over-sized sweater and a pair of sweats, sporting bed hair that would make James itch for a comb. There was something about the sight of him rumpled and sleepy that did terrible things to Qrow's heart, even though this was something he should be used to by now. He dropped in uninvited pretty often.

It was a lot to presume, of course. He would have been breaking his own rules about boundaries and distance if Oz didn't drop by Qrow's place almost as often, always bringing food like he thought Qrow might turn him away if he didn't have an offering. Qrow might be a gigantic hot mess, but he was an _adult_ gigantic hot mess. He didn't need checking up on.

But it was Oz.

“This is moot point by now, but you really should be home resting,” Oz said, pushing a mug of hot chocolate towards Qrow. He set down a bag of mini marshmallows between them on the counter.

Qrow shrugged, popping a few of them in his mouth. “Figured you were bored, too.”

He didn't say anything to that, which Qrow took as confirmation. Technically, Ozpin was also supposed to be taking it easy. Drained aura, bruised ribs, the threat of Glynda revoking snack packages if she caught wind of him not taking it easy (even halfway around the world she was fucking terrifying). Despite all that, he was also completely useless at the forced relaxation thing, so Qrow thought they might as well be shit at it together.

“ _Are_ you hungry, though?” Ozpin said.

“Starving.” The marshmallows would be gone in two minutes. “But do you even have anything in your fridge?”

“Milk, eggs, cheese. I think there's also one can of corn left. I could make a very large omelet.”

“Is that all you've been eating since we got back?”

“I like omelets.”

Qrow gaped at him, partly incredulous but mostly disturbed. “You also like variety. Let's just go out so I don't cry for you or something.”

Oz looked over him to the window. “It's snowing.”

“Lightly. I'm sure our delicate constitutions can handle a couple of flakes.”

“You had a punctured lung.”

“And it's healed. I've been outta the hospital for almost a week. I'm not gonna die from breathing a little cold air,” he said dryly.

How Ozpin could pull off looking so severely unconvinced while eating marshmallows was one of his life's greatest mysteries. It was second only to the skepticism he leveled at Qrow, conveyed through a single raised eyebrow, as he drank _fucking hot chocolate of all things_.

“My treat?” he tried.

_“Qrow.”_

“Look,” Qrow said, spreading his hands on the counter top. “I'm gonna wander around town anyway, so you might as well come with and keep an eye on me, leech a decent meal. And if I cough even once, I'll go home and bury myself in all the blankets, okay?”

A considering beat. The eyebrow dropped, skepticism smoothing out.

Then Oz sighed into his mug, and Qrow knew he'd won.

-

Vale's night market was ensconced in the northeastern district of the city, a half mile spread of stalls and carts in a bustling, cramped street, one of the many cracked up back roads that hadn't been repaved in decades. Open four out of seven days, it was the one place in the city that truly had at least a little of everything.

He and Oz had been coming here since Beacon. Qrow had taken a liking to it because he'd missed the food from Mistral something fierce. The tribe passed through Mistral often—for information and supplies, bought and stolen—and Qrow used to live for those days he could run around the markets and stock up. Raven would scoff at him, but the first time he brought her dumplings from Vale's night market she practically shoveled them all in one go and demanded to know where he'd gotten them. So did Tai when he heard that there was somewhere he could get home food relatively near campus.

It had been Ozpin who'd shown him in the first place after they started hanging out, surprised that Qrow didn't already know about it considering everybody else seemed to. He'd sorely underestimated the lengths Qrow would go to avoid interaction outside of his team.

_I like to come here when I'm homesick._

_You're from Anima, too?_

_Something like that._

Qrow remembered the weekends he'd been stuck in the dorms studying for some exam while he was also writing some hellish many-page paper he maybe should have started a month ago. And Oz had shown up with boxes of steamed rolls or bowls of rice noodles, always sighing at him, which for Oz translated to heavy anguish. Or the times Oz had been laid up in bed, too exhausted and sore from training to go out, so Qrow would bring a little of everything because _food is healing, Oz, and I'm gonna keep poking you until you get the fuck up and help me with this_.

There was a lot of comfort to be had in food, and in the place that provided it so readily. And even now, when he was traveling to Mistral almost every other month for one thing or another, this market was still one of his favorite places in Vale.

Oz let him set the pace, content to be lead from stall to stall. When Qrow offered to pay, he did so with the full knowledge that Oz was going to pick one item and call it done out of courtesy. Which would have been normal if they were normal. In general, hunters had to eat a fuck-load because auras and semblances were hungry things even when they weren't being used. But not all semblances manifested equally. Tai and Glynda's semblances were draining. Qrow's, being a passive shitfest that was constantly on, was _draining_. And Oz, whose existence was a shitfest in itself, bordered on black hole territory. So it fell to Qrow to make sure they filled their sizable tote bag to the brim.

_Omelets,_ Qrow thought, handing Ozpin another bag of fried rice cakes. _He can't have been living on omelets._ So far, whenever Qrow turned to speak to him every couple of minutes, he'd find Ozpin with his hands empty, whatever he'd been eating—noodles, chips, curry—having mysteriously disappeared. And Oz couldn't quite look at him, that old habit of embarrassment creeping in.

Qrow really hated that. He'd grown up in a goddamn bandit camp, for fuck's sake. Food wasn't something to be embarrassed about, and he knew a thing or two about learning to eat quickly.

He also knew something about old habits. Even if they couldn't be broken, they could still be eased.

“We don't have to go to every stall tonight,” Oz said as Qrow tugged him over to the crepes.

“I don't see you stopping me.”

“I like crepes.” It was almost sheepish.

“Yeah, I know.” Before he turned to the vendor to order, he thought he caught a glimpse of a smile as Oz ducked his head.

They took the rest of their haul down two blocks past the end of the market, settling on the curb outside of a pharmacy that had closed early for the evening. All of the wider alleys up the street, cheaply furnished into makeshift dining areas specifically for the event, were way too occupied for Qrow's comfort. Too many people, too many things that could go wrong in a tight space. He'd already stayed far too long in the market proper, though he'd tried not to stay in any one area for too long, skipping plenty of stands along the way.

A couple of people tripping wasn't usually a big deal, but his semblance had a way of fucking over what was usual—in his experience there was a thin line between a little embarrassment and real trouble. One step taken differently could mean bruising a knee or falling into a display, or even toppling right into the hands of a pickpocket. _That_ had been fucking _loads_ of fun.

Qrow took a particularly violent bite of his crepe at the memory, dislodging blueberries into the paper wrapper.

“Did it offend you?” Ozpin was giving him a mild look.

“No, I—“ He paused, staring. “How the hell did you get that far without getting whipped cream literally everywhere?”

Somehow, while Qrow wasn't paying attention, Ozpin had gotten through half of his own treat, wrapper neatly folded back and not a speck of wayward cream or fruit or chocolate chip.

Oz blinked as if he had no idea what Qrow meant, but the twinkle in his eye said otherwise. “Well, I started from the side where it's most accessible instead of going for the middle where I wouldn't emerge unscathed.” He pointed at something on Qrow's cheek, chuckling when Qrow swiped at it dramatically.

“I'll have you know eating stuff down the middle is a legitimate technique. My niece is the fucking champion of it.”

“Isn't she two?”

“You saying she can't be a champ at two?”

Oz smiled. “No, but if she eats as you say she does, it must be interesting for her parents.”

“Summer's just happy the tyke ain't all that picky. Tai cries, though. He's all 'Qrow, you fucker, stop teaching Yang weird crap' like it's my fault. I am a great influence. Model uncle and shit.”

“'And shit,'” Oz repeated with a raised eyebrow.

“Damn right. Kid loves me.”

“She loves everything. She's two.”

“Still counts.” Qrow took another bite of his crepe, noting that Ozpin had finished his and was moving on to the steamed rolls. “Not every two year-old loves everything. I'm sure I hated a lot of stuff when I was two.” Most likely it was all still there somewhere among the other shit he'd come to hate as he'd grown.

“I would be surprised if you could remember that far back.”

“Nah. Probably the best I got is when I was four, and Raven and I were climbing a tree outside the camp. The branch she was on gave out—” _snapped_ , abrupt and sickening— “and she fell. Broke her arm. I tried to grab her, but I just ended up falling, too. I got off with a couple of bruises.” He shrugged as he peeled the paper around the crepe. “I didn't really understand. About what I was. That came later.”

He was a little glad for the silence that followed. The _'it wasn't your fault'_ and _'you didn't know'_ was all old ground, tread and retread, cycling back. The problem with _'you didn't know'_ was that, now that he didn't have that luxury, did it make it his fault automatically? Whenever he went out and something happened, or just by existing? Was he knowingly putting people in danger? What did it say about him, that he chose to be around people anyway?

What did it say about the people around him, who wanted him to stay?

Before he could gain any more momentum on that particular train, he nudged Ozpin's knee with his own. “What about you?”

“I think I was also four. I was taken to a frozen pond to learn how to ice skate. It was not a particularly successful venture.”

“What did you do?”

“Slid like a sack of potatoes, mostly,” Ozpin said with a wry smile. “It was fun, once I figured out how to spin, but I never did learn to skate. Or stand on the ice at all, for that matter.”

Qrow considered that as he licked a smear of cream off his finger. “You never tried again? Ever?”

“No. I've never had reason to.”

“What about 'cause you wanna?”

“I don't.”

Now _that_ was interesting. “Why not?”

“It's _slippery_ ,” Ozpin said with such clear disdain that Qrow had to fight down a snort.

“Okay, we are _so_ going to the park after this,” he declared. “They put up an outdoor rink and its open until like midnight—“

“Must we?”

“Yes. You're a hunter and you can't ice skate.”

“Plenty of hunters can't ice skate.”

“Yeah, but you're a prodigy—“

“Oh gods, _please let that go_.”

“—and, like, can you imagine how devastated the masses—“

“What masses.”

“—the Secret Club of Secrets would be if they knew you couldn't ice skate?”

Ozpin had buried his face in his hands somewhere around 'prodigy'. His shoulders were shaking, and when he spoke his words trembled with suppressed laughter. “What have I ever done to you?”

_Drive me absolutely nuts._ But since he couldn't explain that without throwing all his cards on the table: “There was that time you gave me some kinda medicinal thing that tasted like liquefied demon liver. Or, you know, I'm sure that's what liquefied demon liver tastes like. 'It'll cure your cough,' you said. 'Try something new,' you said.”

Ozpin grimaced. “Something new.”

“Unless you really don't want to.” Qrow teased, but he wouldn't really force anything if Oz was super dead set against it. “I like it, and I think you'd like it, too.”

“What makes you think so?”

He shrugged. “Just a feeling. Skating is—“ the closest thing to flying that anything on land would ever get, and he knew that Oz liked falling because it was the closest thing to flying that he would ever get— “It's nice.”

Oz blinked.

“Showing you would be easier.”

He wasn't sure which of them was more surprised when Ozpin eventually nodded and said, “All right.”

-

Getting Oz onto the rink was easy. He was remarkably obliging, putting on the rental skates and clomping to the gate with a deceptively mild look that Qrow recognized as his _'let's get this over with'_ face. But the moment he was actually on the ice, his lips went thin and he hunched his shoulders, gripping the guard rail with both hands. He looked like he was steeling up for a fight, and Qrow didn't know what to do.

“There's no _friction_ ,” Ozpin said, and it was very nearly a whine.

Qrow tried to hide his snicker by coughing.

“I think I'll be fine here. Go ahead.”

“Where's the fun in that?” Qrow slid until the toes of his blades hit the wall beside Ozpin. “It's mostly balance. Balancing should be a piece of cake for you. I've seen you do worse stuff on ledges and laundry lines.”

“You know they aren't the same thing. I run on ledges, I don't skate over them on knives attached to the bottom of my shoes.”

Yes, he fucking did. How many times had Qrow watched him use his scythe like it was some kind of demented scooter, riding the blade down sloped ledges and over cable wires?

“Ice skating is actually a hell of a lot easier than all the crazy shit you do,” Qrow said. “It's like—like sliding on your floor with socks on. Only you keep going.” He demonstrated accordingly, forward and back along the wall, because he didn't think explaining did much good with stuff like this. Skating was movement, so it kind of had to be _felt_. “Back and forth, kicking off.”

Unfortunately, Ozpin made no move to try for himself.

Qrow took a breath. “Okay, how about—“

Ozpin let Qrow take his hand easily enough, his left in Qrow's right, but his grip was almost painful. It was weird to see him so wary of anything that wasn't actively trying to kill him, especially something as innocuous as a block of ice. The lack of friction must have really bothered him.

But, surprisingly, Oz seemed to take to this a little more willingly. He let his other hand fall from the rail, nudging tentatively from the wall, letting Qrow gently tug him along. He shuffled unsteadily at first, visibly fighting the instinct to dig the blades in and walk, but soon he was following Qrow's movements. One foot after the other, half push, half glide. In his case, it was more wobble than glide, and he was using Qrow's hand as major leverage, but it was better than him just standing there and Qrow wasn't about to argue with any sort of improvement.

“I regret my entire life,” Ozpin deadpanned.

Qrow snorted. “You're doing fine.”

“The wall is _ten feet away_ ,” and, okay, there was no way he was being serious if he was drawling like that. “If I fall, I shall be stranded until spring.”

The asshole _would_ sit there for three months just to prove a point. “How will you fall if I'm holding onto you?”

“You'll leave me, probably to hit something.”

Qrow laughed and didn't deny it.

They went around the rink in slow, lazy circles as Ozpin steadily found his footing, getting more towards actual skating instead of uncertain swaying. Bit by bit, Qrow carefully picked up their pace until they were moving enough to get a decent breeze going. By then Ozpin was no longer trying to cut off the circulation in Qrow's hand, but he didn't seem ready to let go either. Qrow didn't mind that one bit.

He could never admit it out loud for fear of Tai somehow hearing about it, but he was enjoying this. Probably more than he should. Leading Oz behind him, their hands clasped loosely between them, gliding in circles around a mostly empty rink. Fuck, it was even _snowing_. If Tai ever found out about this he'd screech.

The snow was coming down harder now, the flakes whipping up in small flurries. A chill wind managed to work its way past his collar, causing him to shiver involuntarily, sending goosebumps down his spine. He glanced over his shoulder to check on Ozpin, but he didn't seem to notice the cold at all despite his coat being half open and no scarf to warm his neck. His gaze was fixed on a pair of skaters doing spins at the center of the rink.

Ozpin's hair was getting a little long lately; it draped just below his neck, and his bangs now fell completely over his eyes, forcing him to brush them aside every so often. Most of the wariness from earlier had faded from his face, leaving something softer. Contemplative, maybe. It was always a little hard to tell what Ozpin was feeling. Mild was his default everything—expression, emotion, tone—and even when he was clearly expressing something it usually came across fairly moderated.

Now, though—Oz was smiling. Tiny, just a little quirk of the lips.

It didn't take much to make Ozpin smile out of amusement or sympathy or _'Qrow, I despair of you'_. It took something else, though, to make him smile like _that_. Small, quiet, easily missed. Qrow still didn't know what that something else was.

“I think I understand why you like this,” Ozpin said, still focused on the center.

“Growing on you, huh?”

“Perhaps.”

Qrow grinned, slanting a mischievous eye at Ozpin. “So, if I let go—“

“Don't.”

He didn't let go—wouldn't dare, not when Ozpin sounded like _that_ —but he _did_ suddenly shift and turn to face Ozpin fully, still coasting along as smoothly as if he'd never moved. Skating backwards was literally the fanciest move he had and he didn't expect Ozpin to be impressed by it, but his eyes did widen a little in surprise, so Qrow took the opportunity to grab his other hand before he could say anything, inadvertently pulling him just a bit closer.

Oh yeah, the part of his mind that sounded suspiciously like Taiyang was choking right now. Qrow was absolutely a super self-indulgent little shit, and that was the farthest he'd ever get.

But he could enjoy this until Oz pulled back.

Oz blinked, seemingly regaining himself as he looked down at their hands. He frowned and Qrow loosened his fingers—

But, strangely, Ozpin tightened his own. “Are you showing off?”

“Well, fuck, I'm not doing it right if you have to ask.”

“You wobbled a little there.”

“Shut up. I've only done this once or twice before.”

Qrow waited another beat, then another, but Ozpin only tilted his head curiously when the silence drew too long. “Is something wrong?”

_Nothing and everything._ He shook his head.

Oz didn't look confused or uncomfortable or anything Qrow expected. In fact, he barely seemed to pay attention to what they were doing. When Qrow didn't elaborate, he went back to watching the remaining few skaters left on the rink.

It was—he didn't know what it was. What to make of it, if there was anything to make in the first place.

If—if it was possible—

“Hey.”

“Hmm?”

Under Ozpin's full attention, his mouth went dry, and he just _couldn't_. “How's it, then? Skating?” _Fuck._

“I like it.”

Qrow blinked. “Really?”

“Yes. It is, as you say, nice.” His tone was teasing, but the smile was soft. That something else again. “But you know, I think I'll only be able to do this with—“

Qrow never got to hear the rest of it. Just as they passed the gate, Qrow felt one of his skates catch into a particularly deep, uneven groove gouged into the ice, and he instinctively pulled Ozpin closer, bracing for the fall. It happened almost instantly; his head hit the ice as Ozpin's full weight crashed on top of him, knocking the air out of his lungs. For a long moment, he just laid there with his eyes closed, dazed and groaning miserably because _fucking ow_.

Maybe Oz had a point about that friction thing.

“Qrow?”

“I'm good,” he said automatically, not feeling good at all. Even less so when he opened his eyes.

Oz was _right there_. Face inches from Qrow's, the steam from their breaths mingling in the tiny space. They'd been close before, but never like this, not where Qrow could note the startling amber color of his eyes, or the light scatter of freckles that dotted the bridge of his nose and edged to his cheeks. Their bodies were pressed together, he was close enough to kiss, and Qrow figured he might as well fucking die now because he was sure his brain was long gone from this sudden overload—

“Ow,” he hissed when he felt fingers feeling along the back of his head. “Could you not?”

Ozpin gave him an unimpressed look. “I'm checking for—there's a bump.”

It was going to get bigger. He just knew it. “Okay, so stop touching it.”

“I have.”

“Fuck, I hurt all over.”

The color on Ozpin's cheeks deepened. “Oh, yes, sorry—“ He rolled off carefully. Qrow shivered as he went, already missing the extra heat.

“Ow,” he complained again, because it totally bore repeating.

“I told you ice skating was dangerous.”

“You did not. You said it was slippery. Slippery ain't dangerous.”

“Evidently, it is.”

“Ugh.” Gingerly, Qrow set his head back on the ice. “Do you think it'll work like an ice pack if I just lie here?”

“Possibly.”

“Good enough. Are you okay?”

“I'm not the one that just cracked my head,” Ozpin said dryly. Then, gentler, “Your apartment isn't far. And I'm sure it'd be more comfortable.”

Qrow agreed.

-

The thing about having Oz sleeping in the bed instead of the couch was that it was sort of rude of Qrow, since the couch was actually the more comfortable of the two. But that was probably relative. The couch was so plush that it tended to swallow people in its softness and never let them go without some struggling, but it was also stupidly short. As it was, Qrow had to curl up to fit, and it was pretty snug especially with his own small mountain of blankets. Ozpin, actual human beanpole that he was, would have had to drape his legs over one of the arms or the back of the couch or something.

Oz had fallen asleep almost as soon as he sat down. Qrow hadn't bothered trying to wake him as prior experience had taught him it was almost impossible. Instead, he'd picked him up and deposited him in the bedroom, where he piled quilts and blankets until Oz was buried under a multicolored dune.

The other thing about having Ozpin sleeping so close by was that it kept reminding Qrow of earlier, of being so close that he would hardly have had to reach to trace the curve of Ozpin's face, to cup his cheek and—

He'd never had this problem before. But he'd never been that close, before.

And there was the other problem.

Oz hadn't moved away. Not when Qrow had given him an out, and not immediately after falling. He could have. He should have.

Could Qrow really call that a problem? Because Oz was stoicism incarnate even at the best of times, but Qrow had learned to read between those lines. Some of those lines had cracks. And every once in a while he'd find a new gap.

He wondered if today was one of those gaps. Holding hands on the ice. Those quiet, fond looks.

He could be wrong.

He could.

-

Two weeks later, they met up at the ice rink. Before they got onto it, Qrow handed Ozpin a paper bag.

“It was either that or rainbow polka dots. I thought this would clash less with your wardrobe.”

When Ozpin pulled out the green scarf, he stared at it with lips slightly parted in rare surprise, speechless. Then he favored Qrow with a quiet smile that was starting to become very familiar.

Qrow had an idea of that something else, now.

 

-


End file.
